21
Lin
coln
There he was, at a pseudo-religious gathering, staring at the devil in a blue dress. Not wanting to freak Donatella out any more than she already was, Lincoln stood close to the bar on the opposite side of the ballroom. He knew he shouldn’t have been there. She had a job to do and he didn’t want to do anything that would place her in harm’s way.
From the moment he’d pulled into the compound, he’d been fighting a battle within—stay or go? Even when he’d entered the surprisingly opulent ballroom, he’d been tempted to turn around and leave. It wasn’t until his eyes landed on Donatella did he realize that he couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to. She was a vision, like a pleasant dream in an elegant blue dress. To him, she had always been beautiful, but he’d never seen her in formal wear. She was mesmerizing.
Lincoln watched from afar as she charmed man after man with the fakest smile she could muster. He knew it was fake because he’d been present to witness her smile brighten a room.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Colonel Creed?” Lincoln frowned when the feminine voice interrupted his thoughts and dragged his attention from Donatella. He turned to the woman and took a page from Donna’s book. With a smile, he said, “I am.”
“I’m Clara, and I’m here to facilitate all of your needs.”
Her voice was low and raspy. She was flirting, and he was interested. Not in her, but she knew his name. After all, it wasn’t he who was invited. It was Lucas. Now, he knew they looked alike, but not that much alike.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Clara. Please, call me Lincoln.”
She nodded and locked her fingers just under her bosom. It was a trick that women used to draw attention to their tits. His fake grin turned genuine. Clara was attractive, but she had no way of knowing that he was there for one woman, and one woman alone.
“Well, then, Lincoln it is. I’d like to introduce you to our prophet. He’s very excited to meet you.”
Lincoln looked around for their so-called prophet. If he was so excited to meet him, where the hell was he? Clara, presumably reading his mind, chuckled softly.
“He’s right over there, Lincoln.”
She held out her hand toward a nearby table as if she expected him to scurry over to greet their holy man. Lincoln glared down at the woman.
“I’ll be right here,” he told her pointedly before raising his glass to his lips.
Lincoln knew exactly what The Blood of the Chosen was really about. Besides, Clara and their prophet knew that people like him knew exactly what The Blood of the Chosen was. Therefore, he was not about to entertain Bobby Khal’s need to be worshipped.
“Very well, Lincoln. I will fetch the Prophet.”
Lincoln nodded and took another sip. He was grateful when she walked away so that he could return his attention to the reason he was there in the first place. He scanned the room for Donatella, and what he saw when he found her made him tense. She was talking to John Holloway, millionaire CEO of Gorga Pharmaceuticals. At least, that was who he was during the night. When the moon rose, he became “Big John,” fat piece of shit with a penchant for underage girls…andboys.
He was holding Donatella’s wrist and refused to let go when she tried to pull away. It took every ounce of discipline that Lincoln could muster to keep from racing across the room and choke-holding his ass to sleep. But Donatella didn’t seem to be in distress. The fake smile was still plastered on her face. Lincoln prayed that John didn’t do anything with his hands that would make him think,Fuck her job!and blow her cover by beating the shit out of him until he was thin again.
“Are you okay, Colonel?”
Lincoln heard the voice, but he ignored it. He was engaged in something much more important.
“Colonel?”
Had he been a woman, he’d have rolled his eyes. Instead, he turned to see who was talking to him. He couldn’t promise that his aggravation would not show.
“Yes?” He could hear the irritation in his own voice.
“Is everything okay, Colonel?” Khal repeated.
“It’s fine.”
The preacher nervously cleared his throat. He was accustomed to being revered by weaker people. Clearly, not at all accustomed to Lincoln’s brashness.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel. I’m a big fan of your brother. I voted for him.”
Lincoln knitted his brows and glared at the preacher. “Is it a pleasure to meet me because you voted for my brother?”
